He has been staring at it often. Carrying it in his wallet. Sketching it on every piece of paper he gets a hold of. But what was the deal? It was a picture of yours, which you looked so...unreal, so ethereal that he fell in love with it for how much pleasure it wad providing to his sense of aesthetics.

Day by day, you took notice of it more and more and you just asked him about his feelings towards you, and he answered.

"Any kind of situation between your picture and me has ntohing to do with you. I'm in love with your picture."

He said coldly, and you protested.

"But the picture you're in love with is mine?"

He shook his head.

"You're not your picture. Your picture is something that belongs to my world. I know your picture, not you. Don't step between me and your picture. I'm only mesmerized by your picture, I don't want you."

That was...confusing, to be honest.